


the world was on fire, no one could save me but you

by cyberkogane



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a bittersweet/happy ending, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), goes back and forth between past/present, lots of kisses and confessions and falling in love, not equivalent to canon but in the same universe!, they return to earth but it's kinda..like. sad.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 13:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16119395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberkogane/pseuds/cyberkogane
Summary: Their lips touch like embers, deep and warm and full of comfort. It's not rushed and it's not forced. It simplyis.All words are lost but it's not like they really need them anymore, anyway.





	the world was on fire, no one could save me but you

**Author's Note:**

> A lil playlist that I made for this lil story can be found [Here](https://open.spotify.com/user/h95ttixcz3rzz8u6ywiudolf1/playlist/3GFnjwAcNIij0CXZWtzMh8?si=-ywC1zl2QbypCUsbuIEpug)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry for any mistakes.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”_

 

_-Homer_

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

During his early years, Keith had read the phrase _armor vincit omnia_ in an aged book of sonnets and odes in the corner of a quiet library.If someone were to ask him what it meant then, there's no doubt he couldn't have answered with confidence. Sure, he liked to read. He had stacks upon stacks of books piled in his dorm room, the likes of which ranged from high fantasy to the components of engines in deep space. While not looking like one to pour over literature, he had always found comfort in them.

But reading something and truly _understanding_ something always tend to be two entirely different things.

Now, he likes to think he could answer.

Because before, his heart wasn't prone to things like romantic infatuation. It was big and he felt it ache when thinking of his mom or dad and there's no denying his adoration for Shiro. He looked up to the older man with stars in his eyes, uncaring if others saw it as blatant idolization. But when thinking about _love_ , the kind that he'd only read about and watched on flashing television screens, there was a daunting blank space. He felt nothing like the romantics, the words of Keats and Shelley and Byron scrawled in his notebooks full of yearning but never reflected upon with personal experience. 

Still, he supposes there were times, sparse moments, that he thought someone could write lines of prose in his chest. He'd look at boys in secret and watch the way they moved and when he got his first kiss at the age of fifteen, as rough and inexperienced as it was, he foolishly thought: _this is it._

Of course, he'd been wrong.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm right here."

Lance pants on the other end of the comm, his footsteps bursting through the dense brush and vines with clawing desperation. Behind him, sprinting down the mountainside, are howls and screeches unlike anything either of them have ever heard before.

"Keith, I can't-"

"You can." Keith pulls his lion higher, trying and failing to lock onto Lance's position through the shifting trees, "You can and you will. Because.."

Lance's breath hitches when he stumbles on an upturned root and Keith doesn't realize his own throat has closed until they're both breathing again as one; fast and scared and raw.

"Because?" Lance huffs.

He curses and Keith can hear the echo of his bayard shooting through a thick patch of hanging vine. Keith checks the map on his console for the umpteenth time, running his eyes over the expanse of trees and hills, urging himself to fly faster, to search harder. Behind him, miles and miles away, the rest of the team follows suit. But Keith had taken off the moment Lance's scouting report deemed the situation hazardous, ignoring the shouts telling him to stay close for backup.

Now, they both rely only on their adrenaline and instincts.

Keith is terrified.

"Because," He finally says, pushing the control levers down, lowering the lion until he's hitting the canopy of trees, "what would we do without you?"

Lance lets out a breathy laugh, shaky and tired to the bone. "Thanks."

"I'm-" Keith grimaces, wishing his ability to convey his thoughts to words could run smooth for once, "I mean, what would _I."_

"Huh?"

"What would _I_ do without you?" Keith pushes the words out, "There's no way I could survive this war without you." 

It's quiet, save for the howls and Lance's labored breaths. But finally, just as Keith is preparing to apologize, just as his face feels like it's going to burn away from his own rash confession, he sees him.

A pale blue dot moves quickly through the forest on his scanner, pulsing in time with a rapid heartbeat. And then Keith is landing, urging his lion through the trees, branches breaking with the falling of leaves. Lance is forced off of his feet when the lion lands but Keith moves faster than ever, hurrying to rip off his helmet the moment the ramp opens. He drops it behind him and rushes to Lance, whispering apologies for taking so long before crushing him to his chest. He knows there's no way he could have stopped the ambush but it doesn't stop him from feeling a strange form of guilt. A whispering, angry thing that whispers:  _you should have gone with him._

His hand finds Lance's hair and he settles his fingers within the soft brown tresses, the action something he's always wanted to do but never in these dire circumstances. Lance is shaking, his legs pushed past their limit but his own fingers find Keith's back anyway. He holds tight, scared that Keith would somehow leave him.

"We have to go." Keith grabs Lance's helmet and shifts to help him up, pulling at his arm until he can sling it over a shoulder, "They'll surround us any minute."

Red waits for them to return, large eyes glowing bright against the dark foliage. With Blue having been captured by the inhabitants of the planet and later taken back by the paladins, Lance has been on his own for hours. If not for his hopeful heart and his inability to leave seemingly helpless innocents to their own devices, this never would have happened. Yet, Lance is exactly that: a shining heart. A beacon for the weary and lost, a soft brushing shore for people to run to.

The thought of him being taken away, of the spineless creatures that had tricked him and hunted him, makes Keith see in crimson.

He wants nothing more than to blow their mountains to bits.

They run up the ramp with dirty boots, kicking up leaves and stones and dirt. The first group of inhabitants burst through the trees just as the ramp seals shut, effectively keeping them from further harm. Keith thanks Red with a rush of heavy thoughts but it's soon cut short when he lowers Lance to the floor behind the pilot's chair. Blood stains his neck, splatters strewn across the plains of his handsome face.

"Thank you." Lance rasps, bringing Keith's attention away from the shocking red, "Thank you."

Keith nods and uses a gloved hand to push hair damp with sweat away from Lance's face, "Always."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith can't count the amount of times he's shaken hands with Death.

He feels the brush of it like an old friend, always one step behind his back even as he washes away the heat of the day in what many deem the New Sea. It's saltier than he remembers and thicker than their water should be but it's still refreshing enough on his skin. After the war, so many coastal cities had been overtaken by floods that the sea held to a new shape and Keith finds himself staring at the tops of buildings with a sinking feeling in his chest.

Beneath him, throughout the rest of the world as well, cities like New York and Tokyo, Venice and even São Paulo are forgotten to the tides. Death had an urgency to swipe it all clean, to purge the earth completely. 

And here, just outside of his new cabin in the lower United States, the land never stood a chance.

Even so, he ignores that decayed tickling on his back, the cape of the reaper wading beside him and around him and beneath him. He ignores it and he swims on, urging himself to feel life with each powerful stroke of his arms. Memory plays on the fringes of his mind and soon, after he dunks his head beneath the waves, he remembers a different sea entirely. 

 

* * *

 

 

"It's easy." Lance chuckles, laying on his back.

He bobs up and down in time with small crests of pretty water. They're bathed in purple, like the vibrant coral Keith had once seen in a documentary as a child. He knows Lance had hoped for the world to be blue. Keith saw his eyes just before they breached the atmosphere and it was strange, the way the boy could seemingly smell the salty air before they'd set foot outside. Lance had looked crushed, only for a moment, at the thin stretch of dark stone in place of a sandy, beige beach. At the water glistening in tones of amethyst instead of brilliant aquamarine.

But it is water and for Lance, that ends up being enough.

"Easy for you." Keith grumbles, folding his arms atop his knees. "I don't really care for swimming."

Lance straightens until he's facing Keith, "That's blasphemy!"

Keith rolls his eyes, taking the chance to look away from Lance's damp skin and instead on something far less distracting. "Whatever."

He glances up toward the cloudy sky. There are dark patches hinting at rain, the distant rumbling around them akin to thunder. But where Earth had clouds rolling with the darkest grey, these clouds drift with that of deep violet. He wonders if the rain will be purple as well. He wonders if it will feel cool against his skin.

"C'mon." Lance urges, swimming closer.

Keith looks away from the sky and narrows his eyes, "I'm fine."

"I'll teach you."

"No thanks."

"It'll be fun, I promise."

Keith shakes his head, feeling the first drop of rain against his bare shoulder. And it is cool, almost shockingly frigid against the heat of his body.

"You're gonna get wet anyway." Lance says, pushing a lock of damp hair behind his ear.

He slides closer, moving through the water like some kind of shark; like a man with a tail instead of feet. Grimacing, Keith makes to stand. But Lance's hand wraps tight around his ankle, not pulling but not letting him go either.

"What if we get out and then go back in together?" He asks.

Keith wishes he had the true want to push him away and get back inside of Blue. But he's weak and he can only see Lance's pleading eyes, the way they reflect the raindrops and shine like some kind of newborn sun.

All he sees, at every moment, is Lance.

"I'll drown."

Lance laughs and pulls himself up until he's standing on the stone with Keith, "I won't let you."

"There could be sharks."

"Are you _scared?"_ Lance sounds incredulous.

"Of course not." Keith bumps Lance's shoulder, pushing against him as rain starts to fall in earnest.

And he was right. It is purple.

And he should have known Lance would push back.

Keith topples into the water with a shout, the likes of which cuts off as soon as his head sinks beneath the surface. He fears he'll sink, that he'll be pulled to the bottom and remain there forever, lost on this strange planet so far away from home. But hands grab him soon after these thoughts sprout, strong fingers pulling him up and up until the murky sight of bubbly water is replaced by the sky.

He licks at the salt on his lips and lifts his arm to wrap around Lance's neck, stomach doing somersaults with the belief that'd he'd survived countless battles only to meet his demise here. The water pushes Keith forward until his chest is pressed against Lance's, until his face finds stability within the crook of his throat. He breathes deep, the panic that laces his bones trickling away the more he feels his own feet kick to hold him upright.

Lance is warm and solid, a lighthouse in the dark.

"See?" He laughs, using the strength of his legs to bring them slightly closer to shore. "Told you it'd be fine. I'm a pro, after all."

Keith can't reply. And it's not because he's livid, which he really isn't. It's not even because he has water stuck in his lungs, which he'd tried desperately to prevent. Instead, his mouth is firmly shut at the feel of warmth spreading along his spine, flowing like a stream, taking its time to settle in the cavities of his chest. And before he knows it, he's pressing his lips to the skin of Lance's neck.

Lance lets out a gasp, so quiet Keith isn't sure he actually heard it at all. But it doesn't stop him, not when he realizes Lance isn't pulling away. If anything, it feels like the boy is leaning his head even closer.

"Thanks." Keith whispers, trailing his lips further up, deciding to blame whatever's happening on his frayed nerves.  
  
Surely, if asked about it later, he could say the water shocked him and he thought Lance was someone else, right?

Only, there's no excuse for the way his eyes flutter shut, the way he takes his time and uses his hold on Lance's shoulders to keep himself steady. He brushes his lips toward Lance's jaw, feeling a shudder run through his lithe body. It makes Keith's solar plexus catch alight, fire and water mixing in constant motion. He feels smooth rock on the back of his hands and knows they've managed to swim into the risen ledge. But he doesn't really care.

Not when Lance's arms are turning him with ease, the strength of them keeping Keith from sinking back beneath the water. His back finds the stone and he settles there, content and overwhelmed and probably totally out of his mind. Keith wastes no time in tasting Lance, his tongue brushing against a bit of stubble and warm skin. Lance groans and turns toward Keith's lips but a sudden wash of shyness overtakes him and he pulls away, just a bit, just enough to warrant a blush on Lance's cheeks.

"Lance." He whispers, wishing more than anything that he could close the distance between them with no trouble.

But his throat is closing up with what he's impulsively done and his heart is beating so fast he wonders if it'll escape right out of his chest. It's all too new, these feelings. They're stronger than his fear at night, when shadows morph to armored things; stronger than his determination in a fight and the fatigue of his bones-

"What is it?"

Keith closes his eyes and drops his head, embarrassment making his lip tear with the tug of his teeth.

"I've never felt-" He grimaces and tries to push Lance away, "Nevermind, alright? We should head back. The others only gave us an hour to swim and we have to get to the rebels on Nasumri-"

"Keith."

He freezes at the feel of Lance's hand on the back his neck, his long, brown fingers wading through the damp hair settled at his nape. A desperate little sigh escapes him when Lance finally lowers his mouth to the space just beneath his ear.

The kiss is soft, almost a flutter of a wing; the brush of refreshing wind and Keith can't do anything but pray it never ends. He arches away from the stone and their hips brush and both of them are lost, not quite sure where they should put their hands, how they should angle their heads and keep from slipping into the shallows.

"I've never felt like this before." Keith whispers, forcing himself to relay a vulnerable shaking in his voice.

Lance's breath is harsh and fast, "If you want to leave, we can. There's no pressure-"

"I don't want to stop." Keith admits, "That's the thing. I've wanted this, _you_ , for so long. Maybe before we even met and it got all mixed up because of the bickering and the war and I just...I don't want to stop. Not at all."

A soft noise leaves Lance's throat but Keith doesn't have time to question it.

Their lips touch like embers, deep and warm and full of comfort. It's not rushed and it's not forced. It simply _is_. All words are lost but it's not like they really need them anymore, anyway.

How long had Keith been yearning for this moment? How many times had he sprawled out in bed, cheeks red and body sweaty from the thought of it? He'd listen to Lance through the comm's, see him during transmissions with the Blade, hear word of him from rebels and each time, his heart would completely stop. He'd stare and stare and always, when he was alone with his thoughts, he'd imagine something just like this.

His lips are a bit dry and he isn't too sure what he's doing but Lance only pulls him closer, using the palms of his hands to rest gently against Keith's jaw. His thumbs swipe up toward Keith's cheeks and he moans at the feel of it, both of them seeming starved for the affection.

And once it starts to grow more rushed, once Keith begins to feel desperate for air, he fears they really will never stop. They are filled to the brim with new touches, finally caving to the months spent fluttering around one another like moths to flame.

They burn and burn and the rain soaks them and they are colliding, merging, imploding with the thunder.

 

 

* * *

 

 

After Shiro disappeared on Kerberos, Keith's daydreaming of space had turned to strained grief, to hopeless wishes that the stars he so yearned for would pity him and spit Shiro out. Some nights he'd wake and imagine the wind knocking against the roof was actually his friend banging on the door, that he'd returned and managed to track Keith all the way to his little abandoned shack in the desert.

For so long, all he wanted was a sign. A signal that he was alive or on his way back.

Anything, really.

Now, after everything they'd been through as soldiers and paladin's and warriors, he just stares at the letter in his hand. Beside him, Kosmo sniffs at the paper, his nose wet and cold.

The edges are frayed from travelling across the country. The EMP that knocked out the entirety of earth's electricity and tech had thrust them all back to a time forgotten. Hooves have taken place of tires, flickering candlelight has taken the role of buzzing bulbs. Much to everyone's displeasure, bringing back an entire global grid would take much, _much_ longer than originally anticipated, especially when most resources had been used up by the war effort.

He recognizes Shiro's sharp rushed lines, the man no doubt tired of writing letters with ink instead of punching keys or buttons on consoles. As captain of the new Castle of Lions and a third in command to the new, reformed American government, documents pour onto his desk every hour of every day.

Keith rereads the letter slowly, taking in each line like molten molasses, until the lives of his family have embedded into his mind.

 

  
_Keith,_  
  
_I know it's time for an update and while Pidge still wants me to bribe you to come back, I know it's probably pointless, huh?_  
  
_So, i'll just hope this flimsy piece of paper reaches you._  
  
_Speaking of Pidge, she's working endlessly to reboot the world. It worries me, of course, because she sleeps even less than I do most nights. She promises that if she doesn't get the internet back in our lifetime, she'll find a way to do it in another. Sometimes Matt steps in but you know it was never his specialty to deal with high tech. He's focused on the radiation and plants and animals, on mutations and the fault-lines. I figure between the two of them, something has to give._  
  
_Hunk wishes you were here. He helps when Pidge needs him but otherwise he finds himself building what he can to help others. Who would have thought so many people didn't know how to make an ice-box? Well, Hunk's made tons. I wish you could see him do it. A heart of gold sits in him, shining bright. I remind him over and over that he'd be great at my side, you know. He has a way with diplomacy but he's yet to jump at the offer. Soon, maybe._  
  
_Allura and Coran almost took Blue to see you the other day. It seems they've taken a liking to keeping the ship clean and we've pretty much bonded to extreme levels while scrubbing at the walls. Your mom and Romelle still take long walks throughout the city but both of them are antsy and there's talk of joining Kolivan on his excursions to remote planets in search of people who need a guide to earth. If I weren't stuck here dealing with papers and meetings and the new governments around the world, I'd be hauling ass to go, too._  
  
_And Lance. Well, you know how he is. He seems to flutter around the place at night, trying to find something to do when he can't sleep. Some nights he takes Red out and won't come back for hours but we've learned not to wait up. When he isn't away, he helps the children. There are so many without families...even now, after so many have been taken in, they spill from the sanctuaries. I think they remind him of his own siblings, you know? I think they help him when he's stuck in his thoughts or after a night of particularly bad dreams._  
  
_We all have our ways to cope, don't we?_  
  
_Solitude is yours. I get that._  
  
_But he misses you, Keith. We all do. Never forget it, okay?  
_  
_Love, Takashi._

 

It's the first time Keith has heard of Lance in weeks and even though it isn't much, it's enough to send muscles clenching and pulling within his chest. He knows the nights are hardest for all of them, even before they made it back to earth. The night is when you're most alone and if the mind is one thing, it's almost always wicked against the casting of the light.

 

 

* * *

 

  
The ship is quiet. Ghost-like.

Keith listens to the slide of his door shutting behind him, the metal locking into place with a soft solid click. It's been years since the war began and Keith hadn't had a true peaceful, lengthy night of sleep since. In the beginning he'd slept well enough but just a few days after their arrival on the Castle of Lions, his rest could be disrupted by something as simple as a ping in the walls.

And weeks after that, the nightmares began to bore into him like sharp claws. He'd seen his fair share of people die and he's come close to it many times himself. But to relive it like a record that won't stop spinning is something that can bring even the bravest among them to ruins.

Tonight, however, the nightmare was particularly heart wrenching.

He can still feel it running in his veins, chilling him to the recesses of his core until it threatens to burst through his skin. A flash of Lance erupts behind his eyelids, his warm, brown skin paled and icy; lips gone blue-

Keith groans and shakes his head before continuing down the long hallway, steps loud with purpose. The soft glow of lights are different than that of the old Altean ship and though he's grown used to them during this long excursion back to earth, he doesn't necessarily like them. This new ship _isn't_ the Castle and it isn't the small confines of the lions- it isn't truly home. Yet, still, it serves its purpose. The lights bathe his skin in luminescent hues, pulling at shadow and throwing it back until his form is more of a wraith than a person in the dark.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he arrives at his destination.

The door is identical to his own and he stares at the dark grey metal while he knocks, the rap of his knuckles soft and echoing. He can practically feel the energy that had been so dark within himself warp into something purely rancid.

"Lance." He calls out, wondering if the boy is sleeping with Pidge's old headphones again, "Are you awake?"

The swoosh of the door comes sooner than he assumed it would, bringing with it a fresh wave of smells. There is a musk that makes his cheeks flush and there is something floral, probably another concoction of his that keeps his skin smooth and soft.

He's pulled into Lance's arms with ease.

Relief, as an emotion, can only be defined as this.

"I'm awake." Lance breathes before pushing his face into the conjunction of Keith's neck and shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

Keith waits for a reply, listening to Lance's labored breathing shift from something panicked and rough to slow, languid drifts. It distracts Keith from his own rampant thoughts, his own twisting torments. Lance breathes in through his nose, pulling it deep within his chest before releasing warm breath over the expanse of Keith's throat. A chill runs down to the base of his back, shocking his body into something primal; needy and overwhelming and all-consuming.

He grabs at Lance's face until the boy is meeting his eye, the soft curve of his jaw settled beneath his palms. Keith searches his eyes, asking without speaking, to find solace in a new way. In a way that they'd come close to time and time again, that they both brushed the edges of before pulling back with heaving chests and bemused, timid laughs. He gasps the moment Lance pushes his lips forward, eager to capture Keith in a solid embrace. Keith feels it just as he always does, like a renewal of the senses, the snapping free of twisted roots that traps him inside of himself.

Lance moves against him, using his hips to maneuver them toward his bed. Keith has slept in it many times before and always left well rested; a bit envious that Lance managed to find such good sheets and refused to lend him any.

_Stay with me and you can sleep in my sheets as long as you want-_

Keith smirks at the memory of Lance's heated, desperate whisper.

Laying back, Keith sinks into those soft sheets and his hair splays around his face like dark ink. Lance's lips taste sweet and his hands roam with gentle, tickling gestures. His long fingers touch each of Keith's ribs and the splatter of freckles running along his belly, mapping him and exploring him and searching, always searching, for a place to anchor home. Keith's breath stutters and he lifts his leg to run a foot against Lance's calf, using his hands to pull at his shirt and his shorts and his hair.

"Are you sure-"

Keith swoops up to recapture Lance's lips as an answer, knowing that he's never been more sure about anything in his entire life.

 

 

_*~*~*~*_

 

  
"Do you want to talk about it?" Keith asks hours later, feeling the rise and fall of Lance's chest beneath his cheek.  
  
Lance sighs and runs his fingers through Keith's hair, smiling at his inability to keep his eyes open, "It wasn't a dream or anything."

Keith waits, wishing more than anything that it was raining. They have the dim light and the cool air, the tangle of their legs beneath overly warm sheets. But they're missing the patter of drops, something so small in comparison to the stars outside but all the more important.

"I started to think about it again. If they've been happy, if they're still, you know.." He winces, "if they're still around."

"They are."

"It's not-" Lance closes his eyes, the length of his lashes casting shadows against his flushed face, "It's not certain. Coran explained it to me over and over and it's starting to become an obsession, the way I think about everything that could go wrong. I'm scared because," He clears his throat, "because I can't even hear their voices anymore. I can't see my house, I can't see the palms and the traffic in Havana or remember the exact way the sun catches on my momma's face-"

Keith doesn't like the sound of his voice breaking. He doesn't like the tremor of Lance's words and the hunch of his shoulders. He tries to recall his dad's face and when there is a blank space, a void, he feels nausea rise in the pit of his stomach. He shifts to gather Lance into his arms until their positions have reversed and Lance can rest his head on Keith's shoulder instead.

"Allura said we should be back soon. And even if we have to fend off every army in the galaxy, our planet will be waiting for us. For you." Keith turns until he can see the blue of Lance's damp eyes, wishing he was better with words. "We still have time."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Keith hates being wrong.

In the heat of an argument or the planning of an attack, he tries to root out any future mistake that can take place. Even as he fights his own impulsive tendencies there is always the rest of the team to draw him back to himself; to save him. He's risky and sometimes he's brash but in the end, they always comes away safe from the heat of battle.

But to be this kind of wrong, to feel as if he were the cause of Lance's pain, is something unbearable. The news shocks them all and if Allura's shaking hands have anything to say about it, she is already mourning the people on earth that had begun to sound like a second family. Time moved forward in a way they couldn't have prepared for no matter how well Coran explained it. It kept the Paladin's young enough and the rest of earth had moved on and they're just too late-

The sob that is ripped from Lance's throat is one of pure heartbreak, of a pain so raw it could cut and slash and bleed. Keith wants to rush to him but he knows now isn't the time.

He can't relate to the others. His dad is already gone, has been for twenty years and his mom and Shiro are still alive, their hearts beating in tandem with his own.

He can't provide the kind of comfort the rest of the team needs.

And so, he stays back. He watches Shiro, dazed and so brave and utterly exhausted, lean against Black so that he doesn't fall. Bracing himself, Keith prays that it's enough to hold him up. Because regardless of his independence, he had a family.

He had a father and a mother and maybe, if he'd made it in time, a man who would open his arms and receive him.

Lance's knees dig into the sand and he stares at the plot where his house had been, where he'd spent his sunny childhood and comfy winters, where he'd lost his baby teeth and swam with salt in his blood and cooked meals with his family; where laughter echoed and familial arguments snapped before the cool-down. When he bows his head and punches at the ground, blood beginning to stain the beige sand, Keith finally rushes forward.

He doesn't reach for Lance until the boy does so himself, the tips of his fingers trying to touch Keith's own. Keith grabs his hand and pulls his bloody knuckles to his mouth, uncaring of the tang and red staining his lips.

Everything is a blur.

Everything is lost.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Later, after weeks of silence and angry bursts of energy and desperate searchinh to understand how something so terrible could have actually happened, Keith finds himself in the anti-gravity chamber of their ship. Though the room is meant for training, for reminding themselves that the people on earth still need them to be protector's of the universe, he finds the room is helpful in other ways too.

In today's case, he is here for the silence.

He sighs and lifts his hand toward the filtered lights on the ceiling, watching as particles float between his gloved fingers. Rainbows shift, running the length of his body as he pushes against a wall with his feet. Soaring, he finds there is a freedom here that is rarely felt anywhere else. He revels in the flips and turns that he can achieve with ease, listening to Black purr in his head space. The lion speaks to him like a God, omnipresent and watchful and Keith sinks into the noise, thinking that maybe each apostle throughout history had felt something similar to this. Like martyr's with arrows in their skin, he gives his all to the sentience.

He doesn't notice the door open until a hand finds its way to his waist.

Lance pulls him close and maneuvers to rest weightlessly along Keith's body, interrupting all of his introspection. His hands run the length of Keith's back, the tears on his face having dried long before he entered the room but Keith can still see the tracks. 

"I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up." Lance mumbles.

His voice is soft and scratchy but Keith drinks it in, relief washing over him each time Lance says anything at all. For too long now, he's been silent. He's been a haunt in the halls.

"It hurts so bad I can't breathe." He continues, looking up at Keith as they float higher and higher, like they could transcend through the ceiling all the way to the burning stars.

"What can I do?" Keith asks, "I want to help you but I don't know how."

"Just," Lance leans his forehead against Keith's, "just stay with me."

Keith licks his lips and tries for a nod, "Easy."

"Even if nothing works out, even if we lose this war, I hope you'll stay. That you won't leave me."

"Never." Keith plays with the hair on the nape of Lance's neck, "You'll have to scare me off if you want me gone. I'll follow you anywhere as long as you want me."

The smallest hint of a smirk pulls at Lance's lips. That small act alone threatens to send Keith reeling. Lance lowers his head again and presses his ear against Keith's chest, listening to the beating of his heart. A hand raises and he lets it wave like he were in a car on a highway, reminiscent of how the wind feels in the space between his fingers.

"Hey, lovebirds."

Keith turns his head to the new voice, watching Pidge jump quick into the air. Hunk is close behind, his own eyes puffy and full of grief. But they don't talk about it even when Allura and Coran and eventually Shiro show up, their presence completing the web of their lives. 

It's peaceful, the way they all float together.

And though Keith can't feel the expanse of their pain, he can offer his companionship. He won't run and he won't hide. He stays with his family and hopes his mom can feel him wherever she is in the universe, whether she's fighting or hiding or spying. He latches onto that hope and he settles into the quiet with his family, his eyes falling shut in the silence.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Now, more than ever, Keith wishes he hadn't left when the war had been won.

The thought of Lance dealing with his pain alone is enough to send Keith into a panic, his chest heaving against the guilt of breaking his promise. He thought the earth would soothe Lance's pain and he could re-bloom. That he could evolve from the boy forced to be a soldier and he could forget about Keith long enough to do it. Because Keith just wants Lance to be free. He wants him to roam and fly and figure out his way in this new world.

But as the months grow colder, he loathes his decision more and more. Yearning, regret, a clench of the chest, a glance to the ocean.

Today is his twenty-second birthday.

He only knows because of the gift waiting for him at the end of his road. In this part of the country there is next to no one living amid the trees. A few miles away there may be one other and miles upon miles further, there is surviving huddles of people. Even then, however, it isn't much. Most people surged into the bigger cities, those with buildings being rebuilt and sanctuaries opened to everyone fleeing planets no longer habitable.

But here, with just his lion and the ocean and the trees, Keith tends to lose track of time.

He picks the package up with caution, a flash of paranoia striking before he can tame it. Habits die hard. Explosions ring in his ears; soldiers stalk through the trees around him-

Taking a deep breath, he settles a hand onto Kosmo's head and listens to the hum of Black in his mind, both trying to tether him to reality. Tingles start at his fingertips, the vibration of the lion chipping at the whirling dark.

In his hand, the box isn't too heavy nor is it too large but he can spot the return address easy enough. He stops himself from opening it here on the vacant dirt road, beneath the rising light of the early morning sun. Instead, he finds his way to the rocking chair on the porch of his cabin, the furniture newly built and smelling of fresh cedar.

"Okay." He whispers, pulling his knife from the sheath on his hip, steeling his nerves the best he can.

The blade is just as refined as always, sharpened and taken well care of, but he doesn't stop to look at it. He rips the sealing on the box open and tugs at the protective tape until he can cut at the flaps. A card rests inside, obviously handmade by the looks of the thin paper and scribbles of color. He reads it fast, smirking at the quirky handwriting of his team. He eyes goofy doodles and stickers, wishing he'd been able to see them bicker over who could write what and where. Though, with a frown, he notices one signature missing from the rest. It's hard, but he refuses to focus on it for too long

Setting the card aside, he peeks back inside. The shape of a frame peeks from torn silver wrappings and he wastes no time pulling it free. The picture that greets him makes him smile just as fast as it makes his lashes grow damp.

The grinning faces are older than when they first left earth but not as much as now; their armor scuffed from only two years of war. It's a hasty snap shot, one that was probably prompted by Lance after a successful mission.

The boy had always been prone to the desire of creating and keeping memories.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"One picture!" Lance pleads, tugging at Keith's hand like a rope. "Just one and I'll never ask for another for the rest of our lives!"

"I don't believe you." Keith sighs, letting Lance lead him to the balcony.

The view, while definitely nothing like that on earth, is stunning. Lance had been outside for most of the day, watching strange creatures as they flew in the sky, listening to music travel from far below. A city sprawls and flags wave in the wind, newly risen after their liberation. Two symbols are shown: one of the civilization's ruling kingdom and that of the Voltron Coalition.

After the victory, the civilians of the planet poured into the streets and bombarded the team with shouts of joy. They echo even now, the festivities lasting long after the Paladin's retired to the guest manor a day ago.

"Please?" Lance practically begs, turning his eyes onto Keith with an unfair advantage.  
  
Where once Keith could roll his eyes at the boy's silly antics, now he falls prey to the pretty way in which Lance pouts. His brown skin shines from the bright lights escaping the tall windows of the manor and his lips are stained with a drink that is deep, vibrant red.

Keith makes him wait only a moment longer before nodding, finally relenting to Lance's wants. The boy beams and grabs hold of him, tugging him down a slope of stairs.

"Where are we going?" Keith asks, tightening his grip on Lance's hand.

Their fingers twine and the wind feels fresh on his face the further they walk. They head toward a maze of gardens, the likes of which Keith had successfully avoided until now. Suddenly, with no prior warning, Lance spins and raises his camera, or at least the alien equivalent, and snaps a flashing picture. Keith blinks and moves to snatch the object away but Lance is fast, a laugh falling from his lips. 

"You said only one!" Keith grumbles, trying to blink away wonky, circular patterns from his eyes.

Lance scoffs and rushes them forward again, "You know me better than that."

"If you don't tell me where we're going-"

"Oh hush, you big baby." Lance leads them through an overhanging patch of glowing orange trees, the bark undulating with calming light. "I found this earlier while you were sleeping like a cat."

When they come to a stop, Keith looks around with wide eyes. Trees and leaves glow in dim shades, surrounding them in a forest of color. Somewhere, water trickles and falls.

Lance smiles, "Pretty, huh?"

"Uh, yeah." Keith clears his throat, "Beautiful."

"Knew you'd like it. I've seen the drawings in your room, the way you try to capture color with the shitty crayons we found at the space mall. Your look may be _totally_ emo but I always knew you were just bursting with color."

"Thanks?"

Lance rolls his eyes and lowers himself to the grass, letting his body stretch. He raises his hands above his head and Keith grows hungry at the sight of his dark stomach, the material of his shirt shifting up toward his belly button.

"What're you doing?" He asks.

Lance hums, "Relaxing."

The next moment, he's taking another picture. Keith lets out a growl and bends to snatch the damn camera away, only to have his feet knocked out from underneath him. He falls and has to move fast to brace his hands on either side of Lance's head, the latter smirking like a little minx.

"I could've hurt you."

"But ya' didn't." Lance opens his legs and Keith settles in, lowering until he's resting on his forearms instead.

Keith looks down at him and like so many times before, he is overtaken with fond admiration. He's moonstruck, spellbound, totally enthralled. It was a slow-forming type of fascination, one that moved in on him like rising flood water, like the sprouting of a seed and the life thereafter. He'd noticed him in the Garrison when they were just young cadets and knew, somehow, that he'd never have a chance. And later, when Lance had begun a feisty rivalry with him and they'd been strewn into a merciless war, he'd tried hard to keep distance between them no matter much he longed for the opposite.

Now, there's no need for walls. Those crumbled long ago, leaving him vulnerable in a completely new, equally terrifying and satisfying sort of way.

"Whatcha' thinking about?" Lance asks, tilting his head just a bit. "How pretty I look beneath you?"

Keith snorts, "Yeah, something like that."

Grinning, Lance shifts and rises to his elbows to press a chaste, close mouthed kiss to Keith's lips. It's uncharacteristically shy considering they've done much more than that in the past. When he lays back down, he looks satisfied. And it only takes a few seconds more for Keith to realize the flash he'd seen from the corner of his eye wasn't some bright color from the trees.

"Seriously?" He asks, already searching for the camera.

Lance lets out a playful shout and gets to his feet, effectively pushing Keith away. The chase is short lived but fast as they move deeper into the strange maze, hurrying past the shining lights and swaying grass. Keith's fingers find Lance's wrist and he spins him until his back is pressed against a rather frail tree, the force of their bodies making the leaves shake.

Glittering, dusty color falls like snow. It catches in Lance's hair and on the crests of his cheeks, coating him in gold and red and pink, reminding Keith of a star gone supernova.  
  
"What?" Lance asks, caught between a laugh and slowing breaths.

Keith shakes his head and rubs a thumb along Lance's lips, swiping the red in a streak. Then he is swooping forward, tasting him and feeling him and breathing him in. Beside them, the camera drops to the ground before Lance's hands rise to rest on Keith's neck, palms pressing flat on either side.

Later, after Lance has fallen asleep with kiss-bruised lips, Keith sneaks the camera from his pouch and presses the button to print the pictures. He goes through them and puts aside those of himself before stealing away that of their kiss. Lance's mouth is upturned and his cheeks are flushed and though Keith's own eyes were shut, anyone could tell that he is in love.

That he has never been happier.

 

 

* * *

 

  
Pictures have captured their time together like a kaleidoscope.

Keith shuffles to his room and pulls a chest from his closet, digging through the belongings with a growing necessity. His eyes need nothing more than to see the pictures, to soak them in and see his face-

When he pulls the pouch from the confines of the chest, the pictures spill onto his hardwood floor. He sees one with Lance turning to look at him on an alien cliff, his hair blown across his bright face. Another, Hunk has Lance under one arm and Pidge beneath another; there is Shiro giving Lance advice on the star-deck and Allura pointing toward Keith, Lance's face full of surprise and bemusement. There is Lance and Lance and _Lance_ and Keith could drown in him with no need to ever resurface. 

He places them in order until they tell a story, an adventure that has torn them all to pieces and forged them by fire. At the end, he places the new frame to complete the layout. 

Then he leaves.

He shuts his door and goes to the shed he'd built to keep his wood from storms, breathing in the smell of cedar and oak and sawdust. Here, he gets to work creating frames for each picture, specializing them and perfecting them until his sorrow has turned to concentration. Until his urge to take Black and fly across the country, across the rivers and contaminated stretches of decimation, fades to a slow boil, a simmer.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It's strange, waking to a day that feels utterly normal only to realize it is anything but.

Wading in the ocean, Keith should have felt the disturbance the moment new boots set foot on his property. He should have felt something soul-deep and soul-shattering and maybe he _did_. Maybe that burst of chills on his skin was a sign but he stubbornly pushed it down with the dunking of his head beneath the water.

Now, there's no denying the person on the shore.

Keith fears he'll sink into the silt beneath his feet. All of his plans for the day are gone in a millisecond and all of his nerve endings are sparking like live-wire. His throat is suddenly parched and his hands shake and the boy is getting closer still, face twisted with anger and hurt and so many raging emotions they give Keith whiplash. 

When Lance reaches him, Keith doesn't try to stop the hands pushing at his chest. The shove is strong and he falls back into the water, only catching himself from going under completely with the tips of his fingers onto the soft seabed.

Looking up, Lance is a huffing, vengeful god. His hair whips in the wind and his eyes are burning blue, the hottest part of the flame. Keith can't move and even if he could, he doesn't think he _would_. He's stuck, planted and rooted beneath his boy.

His boy who, by the looks of it, wants to tear his head from his shoulders.

"You fucking-" Lance bends to splash water and sand into his face and Keith sputters, finally shocked fully awake, _"asshole!"_

Keith gets to his feet and stands unsteady, unable to say a single word.

Lance's chest is heaving and his shoulders look a bit broader than Keith remembers, the scar on his lip only slightly faded and the snag of a too-sharp tooth poking from the angry tilt of his lip looking sorta painful.

He seethes, he burns and he scorches. He is oil atop the ocean, the kind that explodes.

They stare at each other as the sea rolls around them, an incoming storm ripping at the surface.

"How could you?"

Lance's voice comes in a whisper. It's cracked and splintered. It feels like a bullet to Keith's chest.

"Lance-"

"I tried so hard, do you know that?" Lance's fist clenches at his sides, "I tried and tried and I still couldn't stay away from you. It  _still_ hurts! Every morning I wake up and you're not beside me and I feel it like...like fucking flames against my skin!"

Keith tears his eyes away, ashamed. "You needed time to heal."

"I needed _you!"_ Lance shouts, stalking through the water with an ease Keith could never have. He pushes him again but this time it holds much less strength. "I _need_ you. I need you every single fucking second and it's tearing me apart."

"You have me." Keith brings his gaze back, urging Lance to know. "You always have."

_How,_ he wonders, _could I have left him? How could I have been so stupid?  
_  
"Do I?" Lance steps closer, "Because in case you don't remember, you broke your promise. You _ran_ like so many times before, so far and fast that I couldn't even try to keep up. If you don't want to be with me...if you want me to leave, I will. I'll go and you can forget me. You can act like I never existed, like I never mattered to you."

Keith startles forward, hand reaching for a place that is as familiar to him as his knife, as his drawings and his gloves and the fur of his wolf. Lance immediately leans into the touch, his head tilting to rest in Keith's palm.

"Never." Keith says, voice growing strong after the brunt of his shock, "I'd never forget you."

"Then come home."

The words sting.

"I-"

"Or make a home with me." Lance interrupts, continuing on with determination, "I want to forgive you and I want to wake up to you and I want a simple life. With you."

Thunder rumbles around them, the kind that makes human beings come alive with an ancient energy. Keith's hair stands on end and his eyes water and he still feels so damn ashamed it pokes at him like thousands of knives. 

"I'm sorry." He chokes out, closing the distance between them. "I'm sorry. I _did_ leave and I can never make that up to-"

His words are swallowed by Lance's lips.

His breath enters Keith's mouth and he tastes like cinnamon and chocolate and it makes a desperate noise rise in his throat. The waves grow hectic at Keith's back but he doesn't dare move.

The kiss is full of a fire that had always blazed between them. It is the epitome of sneers and fights and frustration; of tasting alien foods and winning battles and sitting with a family born out of necessity. It is the depth of their laughter and sleepy smiles and sloppy kisses and _love._

"I love you." Keith breathes when Lance lowers his mouth to the base of his throat. "I love you, I love you-"

Lance lifts his head and hushes Keith with another kiss, his fingers gripping tight at his back.

When he pulls away, the rain washes them clean.

He kisses Keith with fresh water on his lips, kisses him when the waves force them back to shore, kisses him when they stumble through Keith's creaky cabin door. And he kisses him in the bed, arms covered in chill bumps, his brown skin drying with the heat of Keith's breath.

His voice is quiet but to Keith, it is a stadium of sound. "I love you."

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Baby," Lance whispers in the dark, "you are my life."

Keith rolls and breathes him in, nose skimming the length of his throat. He can feel the rise and fall of his Adam's apple, the light trace of hair starting to poke from the bottom of his chin, each risen freckle and pulse of vein.

This has come to be Keith's favorite time.

More so than their walks in the woods or their swims beneath the sun or even flights in Black or Red, he finds solace in the quiet mornings wrapped up in Lance's long limbs. The cabin smells like pine and a smoky fire, the air outside whipping and frigid. But in here, it is eternally warm.

He sighs and curls into Lance's side, sliding his feet against the sheets.

"Waxing poetic so early, hmm?"

Lance snorts a laugh, "I was talking to Red."

"Yeah? Y'all gettin' married soon?"

"Totally."

Sunlight creeps through the blinds and they laugh together, one voice a bit pitched while the other is gravelly from sleep. Sometimes, Keith wonders if he's dreaming. If this, the boy in his arms and the home they've built, is nothing more than a long stretch of cryosleep.

But then he looks down at his hand and sees the silver band wrapped around his finger and knows that this is all very, very real. Keith deems himself one of the lucky ones. He's alive, he's in love, he's content and the sun is falling across his face with a soft caress. That's more than so many others can say.

Instead of feeling guilty for his survival, he remembers the day Hunk brought the rings to him, one forged from garnet, the other azure; both holding a small, minuscule piece of the original Castle Ship crystal.

The ring on Lance's finger glints in his peripheral and Keith's stomach does flips, hundreds of butterflies taking brisk flight. He moves to push a bit of Lance's hair away from his face, fingertips tracing. When he looks down, he meets Lance's eyes. 

 But they are no longer shining.

"Hey." Keith whispers, "Where are you?"

Lance lets out a shaky breath.

"Sorry." He sighs, "I'm just thinking."

"You barely slept last night."

Lance smirks and kisses his chest, "Well, you _did_ wear me out."

Keith flushes and pushes at Lance's shoulder, making him snicker.

Their legs brush together again and Lance runs a hand up Keith's side, feeling a ridge of scars. Sunken cuts from his time with the Blade of Marmora, they are the outcome of a burning, three bladed sword. Keith knows Lance hates his own scars, that he considers them ugly, brutish things. That they are reminders of his time away from his family, of the lifetime he missed and the unfair outcome of his heroics in space.

But Keith never thought so.

He traces the scar of a bullet wound on Lance's back, inches away from his spine. To the right, there is a deep cut from a piece of shrapnel that he'd taken the brunt of when saving a child and on his stomach, right above his belly button, is a testament to his sacrifice during the final battle for earth.

"I was thinking about my momma." Lance suddenly says, pulling Keith away from his venture on his husband's body. "And my sisters and brothers and, you know, everyone."

"Oh."

Lance moves to sit on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. And Keith, well, there's not much he can do but be here. Right here, next to the man he's chosen to give his all to; the man he'd lay down his life for.

"I'm tired of crying." He admits after a long stretch of silence, "Of thinking I'll turn around and see them running on the beach. And it sucks because I want you to meet them and I want to meet your dad, Keith. I want to shake his hand and ask him to show me baby pictures of you but neither of us can get them back. And it's just. It's not  _fair_."

Keith gulps, "It isn't."

"My mom would've loved you. She'd have questioned you at first, like you were on trial or something but she'd totally adore you." Lance smirks when Keith runs his hands along his back, bare, pale thighs braced on either side of his waist.

The thought of first meetings makes Keith swell with longing. He stands fast and grabs hold of Lance's face, making him meet his eye.

"My dad would take you fishing." He forces out, knowing Lance loves to hear stories about his old man. "And he'd push me in the lake and then the whole boat would tip but it'd be on purpose because he was so damn goofy. Then he'd make us drag the boat from the water and we'd sit on the bank, sipping nasty warm beer."

Lance smiles against the dew in his eyes, "Sounds like a great time."

"We should get a boat."

At this, Lance throws his head back and laughs loud, "Shiro would probably make us build it. Try to relive the days of good ole' teamwork."

"We could, though. Seriously." Keith ponders, plans already forming in his head, "Pidge has mentioned exploring the city beneath the water. We could beat her there-"

_"Woah,_ cowboy. Slow down."

"What?"

Lance shakes his head and gets to his feet, "Let's wait until summer comes around at least, yeah?"

Looking to the window, Keith shrugs. "Guess that makes sense."

Chest rumbling with laughter, Lance leans forward and smacks a kiss onto Keith's forehead. Then he's walking away, through their bedroom door and into the living room, the sound of plates clattering overtaking the quiet. Keith looks at their bed and the rumpled sheets. Around them, pictures are spread among their belongings; Lance's collections he'd built while in space and Keith's charcoal sketches. 

The sight makes him sigh and lean against the wall, content.

Then Lance calls out, his voice ringing down a very short hallway, "If you go get some more wood for a fire, i'll make you breakfast!" 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  
In the end, Keith knows he'll be okay.

After a day spent with his team, with his _family_ , he watches them head back to their own lives. Shiro holds the hand of a man with dark brown skin and a tilting accent, their eyes never really leaving one another throughout the entire day. They talked about borrowing Black to go to the stars, the lion having come to life the moment Shiro touched the metal. Keith knows that they'll go soon and Shiro will finally find find peace with the cosmos; finally find wonder again, maybe even revive the dream he'd had since he was a small boy.

Keith, on the other hand, has had his run with it. He's fought and killed and saved thousands with his friends. He's been to victory parades and funerals, to grand feasts and strange celebrations. Planets have been annihilated and he's screamed with rage, shot at fleets and been shot himself. He's seen it all, in the only way a kid thrown into war can.

Now, he can rest.

They all can.

Somewhere, Kosmo howls and runs free but Keith knows he'll always return, most likely with a silent poof into their bed. He walks toward the beach, watching as the frothy waves brush the shoreline. The rest of the ocean is calm and it reflects the stars like a mirror, the twinkling lights shining into the infinite. But Keith's gaze isn't focused on that. Instead, he's drawn to one point; to one solitary destination.

Lance turns at the sound of his steps, looking at peace after the long, happy day.

Keith likes to think that it was all worth it.

All of the heartache and the days without sleep and the wounds; both inside and out.  
  
When he reaches the waves, the two of them stare straight ahead, fingers locking tight.

"I think she's still with me." Lance says, voice soft in the dusk.

Keith immediately knows what he's talking about. What he's been trying to understand for years, what has been stuck in his mind like a festering plague.

"Your mom." Keith confirms.

Lance nods, "All of them. I think, maybe, they're the way the wind blows. Like, it's cheesy right? But they're not gone. Not completely. Like your dad, they're the way the light shines in our windows during the evening. The way the sun keeps us warm while we plant our crops and clean the lions and bathe your stinky, adorable dog."

Keith smirks and stares at his husband: his best friend, his comrade, his constant flame. There is a spread of dark stubble on his jaw and his hair is shaven on either side of his head, similar to Shiro's, almost as if he'd never stopped seeing the man as his hero. Keith runs his eyes over the shell of his hear and the golden stud in his lobe, the scar on his lip and the length of his lashes. 

He knows that the sadness will never fade completely. It'll stick to him like sweat in the summer.

But he's not the only one.

All of them carry ghosts, whether it's from the people they lost or the one's they couldn't save. Even those they had to kill.

But ultimately, Keith knows they did _good_. They did the best they could.

He brings a mug of warm ale to his lips before passing it to Lance, content to watch the steam rise to meet his cheeks.

And that's how he knows, just by the way his husband's eyes shine and his own heart skips a beat.

That's how he knows they made it. _  
_

  

**Author's Note:**

> eh, I don't really know if any of this makes sense and I worked way too long on it but it was honestly kinda therapeutic for me to write so here it is. Sorry if the structure was confusing. I really hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Come say hey on my tumblr: [starshinebf](https://starshinebf.tumblr.com/)


End file.
